Boom—! Death slammed into the woman’s soft body, and the air wailed like a mourning bell.

...

“That’s... the main gate of the wall?” Medith stared at the rolling dust and the shattered doors. Her heart ached like winter wind biting bone. “Lina...”

“What’s wrong? Your men died and now it hurts?” White Tiger hefted his war hammer, his laugh shriveled like a dead leaf. “Don’t worry, there’s more pain to come. Can’t handle this? Heh, hahahaha!”

Medith’s peerless face went frost-cold, her gaze a pair of drawn blades. The hand on her sword trembled like a taut bowstring. She parted clenched crimson lips and said, “Fine. I’ll take your advice. I’ll do exactly as you said—so you taste it.”

Her almond eyes locked on him like twin emerald spears. White Tiger bristled like a beast cornered; the force spilling off her felt no less than his chieftain’s storm.

“Tooth Tiger!” White Tiger barked. Tooth Tiger smashed the skull of a Sprite in green heavy armor, then vaulted to his side like a leaping cat.

“What, just a little girl, you—” He cut off. A cold breath grazed his neck, glacier-sharp. He flinched and raised his spiked club, only to realize nothing had struck him.

He looked ahead. Medith stood like a war god. White coat uniform, white trousers, brown boots laced to the heel. In her right hand, a silver longsword gleamed like moonlight on steel.

Her green silk hair stirred without wind; the cloak behind her whipped like a flag in a squall. Her jade eyes were knives aimed straight at him.

When he met her gaze, he knew the chill on his neck was her. Her killing intent and pressure poured out until they felt solid, a winter blade that had singled him out.

“What’s going on? How can a Sprite girl do this?” Cold sweat slid under his mask, traced his cheek, dripped off his chin like rain.

White Tiger crushed the hammer’s grip. “No idea. I heard women of the Elf Clan live eight hundred years. For the first five hundred, they look like maidens. But her face and figure say she’s still young. Even if she weren’t, could she throw out an aura like the boss’s...?” The thought rattled him like thunder. If they’d known about Medith, the boss would never have marched on Xurenxus City.

“Let me guess what you’re thinking...” Medith’s voice cut like sleet. “You want to retreat. If you’d known I was here, you wouldn’t have attacked. You let greed fog your skulls and made the dumbest choice of your lives. You’ll die here. Your strategist will die here. Your chieftain will die here. I’ll take his head with my own hands, lift it to the sky, and pronounce your defeat.” She ripped the air with a silver arc of steel and slashed for White Tiger.

Clang—! White Tiger raised his hammer and caught the stroke. Boom! The block held, but the stone beneath him didn’t. Fissures split like lightning; a web of cracks flowered under his feet.

“Urr—ah—!” Behind him, Tooth Tiger swung his spiked club down like a falling star. Medith bent her lithe body, slipped past the strike, then let her long legs whirl like a gale and booted them both away.

White Tiger, shielded by his hammer, only staggered back a few yards, stumbled, and steadied like an oak in wind. Tooth Tiger wasn’t so lucky. His swing whiffed, his guard went wide. Medith’s foot tapped his chest like a drumbeat; he flew nearly ten meters, hit stone, and spat blood—hurt deep.

“Tooth Tiger!” White Tiger shouted, fear quivering like a plucked string. Tooth Tiger braced on his spiked club and stood, swaying but still game.

Medith gave him no breath. She skimmed past White Tiger like a shadow and went for Tooth Tiger. She burst upward, spun in the air like a leaf in an updraft, then borrowed force midflight and chopped down with her sword.

Tooth Tiger roared, “Don’t push me too far—” He hacked his club at her, and a swarm of spikes flew. Drawn by a strange force, they clumped into a single iron sphere, a thorned moon.

The spiked ball shot at Medith like a meteor. White Tiger saw it and skidded away, fear kicking him downhill.

“Block me if you can. Go on—try!” Medith’s voice was a blade. “Rapid March: Break—!” She slashed into the sphere. Clang— ssssss— Metal screamed like teeth on ice, sparks flared like fireflies.

“Ah—ha!” She wrenched down. Her blade split the orb clean, then bit the ground and carved a long fissure like a river cut in stone.

Tooth Tiger saw and rolled for the wall’s edge, panic tumbling him like a barrel in surf.

Boom— whooo— shiuu— Her sword struck, and a Cyclone rose like a dragon from stone. The Cyclone snapped into an invisible slash and scored a shocking scar across the wall’s floor. Mountain Bandits caught head-on were cleaved in two like stalks.

With one stroke, Medith reaped the wall’s packed Mountain Bandits, tight as grain on a threshing floor. The parapet was narrow; hundreds were crowded there. Dozens of Elders Council fighters were caught in the blow. Their green heavy armor saved them from death, but every plate split, and every chest wore a bone-deep gash.

“Huh?” Medith eyed the sphere still hanging midair, puzzled, like a hawk studying prey. She glanced at its guts, then dove off the wall. Her sword scraped stone, slowing her like a sled on ice. She pinned herself hard to the wall’s center.

Ding ding ding— The sphere cracked and spilled a cloud of spikes. The spikes wriggled like living things, whirled in the air, then spewed like a pile-driver firing nails.

Chhk— chhk— chhk— The spikes sprayed into the crowd and turned bodies into honeycomb. The nail-rain hammered for a full ten seconds before it guttered out.

By then the wall was a wasteland. A vast sword scar, pits, fractures, a floor glittering with spikes, pocked holes, and a scatter of severed limbs and Mountain Bandit corpses riddled like beehives.

Many Sprites lay among them. In a handful of exchanges, the Mountain Bandits lost nearly eight hundred. The Sprites lost dozens of B-rank fighters and Elders Council members.

Medith listened for the noise above to ebb. She sprang from her sword’s spine, caught the blade, and ran up the wall to the top like wind up a cliff.

Below, the gate finally shattered. The city gate fell; what greeted the Sprites was a cold invasion, like a night tide rolling in.

“Loose.” Euticles had waited long enough. Five thousand C-rank Sprites crouched on the surrounding rooftops like hawks. His order fell, and a storm of arrows hissed for the gate.

“Ahhh—”

“They ambushed us! Ah—”

“Block it! Block it!”

The Mountain Bandits howled in panic, a flock scattered. The instant they stepped through, arrows punched hearts clean like icicles.

“You think this old man is playing games? Hmph! Sky-blind little trash.” Euticles lifted a bow, drew it to the ear like a moon on a string, and let go.

“The old fool didn’t even notch an arrow. Shoot your—”

Shrrrip—

“Ah—”

Whooo— squeee— A wind blade scythed across the gate, sharp as winter glass. It sliced the gate itself in two like paper. It cut down every Mountain Bandit rushing in, and even the unbreakable battering ram shed a layer like bark.